


Home Isn't Always A Place

by vix_spes



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Community: hobbit_kink, Cuddling & Snuggling, Durin Family Feels, Family, Fix-It, Fluff, Gen, Hobbit Kink Meme, POV Female Character, Post-Battle of Five Armies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-20
Updated: 2016-06-20
Packaged: 2018-07-16 07:03:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7257382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vix_spes/pseuds/vix_spes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dis has always known that, whatever her brother might say, her home is not a place.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home Isn't Always A Place

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [this prompt](http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/7346.html?thread=17195186#t17195186) at the Hobbit kink meme. This is an old prompt which already has a wonderful fill by [madame_faust](http://madame-faust.livejournal.com) but I couldn't resist! Huge thanks to dunderklumpen for looking this over for me!

For as long as Dís could remember, her brother's arms had been a haven. Wrapped tightly in his embrace, she had never felt anything but safe and she had always sought Thorin out over Thraín or Thrór. Even when their world collapsed around them as Erebor fell to Smaug, Dís had taken comfort in the familiarity of Thorin's arms around her. She had adored both of her older brothers but while Frerin always had the ability to make her laugh, Thorin could always make her feel safe and comforted in a way that no-one else could, not even their own parents. Tucked up against Thorin's broad chest, his arms holding her close and his long dark hair shielding her from the rest of the world, Dís would stay there contentedly feeling Thorin's voice rumble beneath her ear and breathing in the familiar mix of scents that she attributed to Thorin, not wanting to be anywhere else.  
  
Dwarrows from the Longbeard clan had never been particularly free with their affections - the line of Durin even more so - but Thorin was always willing to be more demonstrative where his younger siblings were concerned. Then again, Thorin was generally more tractable where they were concerned, not least because they followed him around like little shadows, both of them wanting to do everything that Thorin did. Only five years younger than Thorin, Frerin tended to not want the hugs as much as Dís which was perfectly fine by her as it meant that she got all of her eldest brother's hugs to herself. During their years of wandering, Dís had lost count of the number of times that her Ama had told her that it wasn't dignified behaviour for a princess of Durin's line to be coddled so (and even worse for Thorin as future king to indulge her) but Thorin had ignored their Ama and, when he had overheard his daughter-in-law’s scolding, even Thrór had told her to leave them be.  
  
Thorin's hugs had kept Dís going through the long years of wandering before they finally settled in Ered Luin. Everything else might be unfamiliar and unknown but sat in Thorin's lap, his arms close around her and his fur coat bundled around them both as he hummed under his breath, Dís could tangle her fingers in his braids and pretend that they were still in Erebor.  
  
All of that had changed after Azanulbizar.  
  
Thorin's hugs had become few and far between. Grief weighed heavily on him after the deaths of not only so many dwarrows both known to them and not but their ugmil’Adad and beloved Frerin as well. By the time that the burning pyres were no more than ash, Thraín had disappeared leaving Thorin as King-under-the-Mountain-in-Exile. Thorin had left a young prince and returned King of the Longbeards. Where Thrór’s army had departed as a host, Thorin returned with less than half of the warriors that had set out.  
  
Upon Thorin’s return, Dís had fallen into his arms and, though she had beat his chest with her fists in her grief, his grip had never faltered. He had held her as tightly as she held him and though she felt his tears on her skin, she never said a word. In the months and years that passed and as their mother, Freya, drew further from them with each passing day, Dís tried to support her brother as much as she possibly could but somehow, she had the feeling that her embrace never offered the same haven that Thorin’s did for her.  
  
And then Thorin himself had disappeared. Oh, not like their Adad had, just vanishing without a word never to be seen again. Dís always knew that her brother would come back, that he was away doing what he felt needed to be done for their people. Even so, she missed him more than she could say. Freya died a scant few years after Azanulbizar and, although Balin tended to stay behind while Thorin and Dwalin travelled in search of work, Dís couldn’t help but feel alone and, more than once, she had thought that she would rather go without food or firewood if it meant having Thorin back.  
  
The loneliness dissipated somewhat when Víli came into her life. The son of a Broadbeam father and a Longbeard mother, the miner would not have been allowed anywhere near Dís had Freya still been alive. Indeed, on the day that Dís accepted Víli’s arms couldn’t quite offer the same sanctuary that Thorin’s did and sometimes she did wonder if she were truly _in_ love with him although she did love him in her way. Still Víli gave her her beloved sons; golden-haired Fíli who took after both Víli and Frerin in his colouring and dark-haired, dark-eyed, Kíli, the spitting image of his amad and Iruk’Adad. Only, Víli hadn’t lived to see Kíli’s birth, losing his life down a mineshaft just a scant month after Dís had discovered she was expecting. Thorin had returned to stay as soon as he heard the news and Dís had once more found home and haven in her brother’s arms.

  
~*~

  
Dís couldn’t help the wave of apprehension that washed over her, setting her stomach roiling as the giant carved front gate of Erebor loomed over her. She was unsure as to how she felt returning here; she only had the vaguest memories of growing up here before Smaug had descended, having been a dwarfling of only ten years where her Amad had carried her from the mountain. All around her, voices buzzed excitedly that the line of Durin was finally home in Erebor but Dís was terrified as to what she might find. The ravens had brought word that her sons and brother lived but nothing beyond that. Would Dís find the brother that she adored or one cursed as their ugmil’Adad had been?  
  
The talk that she had heard down in the ruins of Laketown and Dale had hardly filled her with confidence as she heard how Thorin had barricaded his company inside the Mountain and refused the share the wealth that he had promised. How he had dangled the Halfling of his company off the battlements of Erebor and how the Company of Thorin Oakenshield had been absent from the battle until Thorin had shaken free of the gold-madness. As they drew closer and closer to the mountain, Dís was almost overwhelmed with the urge to flee back to Ered Luin but forced herself to keep moving forward.  
  
She had barely stepped one foot off the wagon that she had driven from Ered Luin before she was attacked by two fast moving blurs – one fair, one dark – that attached themselves to her like limpets. Dís held them just as tightly, pressing kisses to their foreheads and temples as they whispered her name. her sons, two of her greatest treasures, adored Thorin as much as she did for he had been the father that neither of them had had. Fíli may have vague memories of his father but, if you were to ask the sons of Dís, both of them would tell you that Thorin had been the only father that they had ever known. It was he who had sat with Dís through their births (having several fingers broken in the process), who had fed and bathed them, soothed their nightmares, provided all of the hugs and kisses that a dwarfling could desire, instructed them in weaponry and taught them how to be princes of the line of Durin.  
  
Dís had lost track of the number of times that she had watched her sons fall asleep in Thorin’s embrace, much as she had when she was their age, tiny hands clinging to his braids and staring at him starry-eyed as he sang songs and told them tales of their heritage. They idolised their Uncle Thorin just as Dís had idolised her nadad and would do anything to make him proud of them and prove that they were worthy heirs of Durin.  
  
And then Thorin had announced his intention to reclaim Erebor for their people and Dís’ sons were the first to volunteer after Dwalin. They were his heirs and his sister-sons so there was no doubt that Dís could refuse their desire to join their Iruk’Adad’s quest. Besides, Dís knew that were either of them to fall then it would destroy Thorin just as much as it would destroy her. And so, with no choice left open to her, Dís had, once again, waved her entire family off to war with one parting embrace from both her brother and her sons, praying that she would see them once more. Now that day had come, Dís held her boys closer and thanked Mahal that they were alive.  
  
With Fíli and Kíli safely accounted for, that just left Thorin. Dís scanned the crowds frantically, her eyes drifting over reuniting families and others gaping at the vastness of Erebor around them. She nodded at the Fundin brothers, knowing that she would greet them properly later, before she continued scanning the crowds. Finally, she caught sight of him. Thorin was stood slightly apart from the milling dwarrows, taking in the sight before him and Dís willed him to look in her direction.  
  
And then she felt his gaze upon her. Thorin was stood slightly apart from the rest of the gathered dwarrows, finally looking like the King that he had been for hundreds of years. Dís was so used to seeing Thorin dressed for the forge or in his rather battered albeit beloved coat that it was something of a shock. Still, she couldn’t help the pride that thrummed through her at seeing Thorin in the colours of their house and pristine furs, the familiar sight of Deathless at his hip along with another unrecognisable blade. His beard was still shorn but he had several braids in it even if they were unadorned. His hair hung loose except for the braids that marked him as of Durin’s line that were adorned by the beads that Fíli and Kíli had made and gifted him upon their coming of age. Resting on his brow was the diadem that had once been worn by Dáin I.  
  
Dís searched his face frantically until she saw the warmth in his blue eyes and the softening of his mouth until it had changed from a grim line to the small smile that she knew so well and then had to hold back the sob that threatened to leave her throat. This was her beloved older brother, the Thorin that she had adored and loved wholeheartedly since infancy. Dís felt Fíli and Kíli step away from her and then she was taking one step forward then another, seeing Thorin’s arms open and then she was crashing into his embrace feeling like a dwarfling again. She knew that the crowds around them had to be staring but she didn’t care and simply burrowed further into Thorin’s arms, breathing in deeply. His arms were wrapped around her just as tightly but Dís had no intention of moving, even if her ribs were starting to protest. She felt a lingering kiss pressed to her temple and then Thorin’s voice in her ear.  
  
“We’re home namadith, we’re finally home.”  
  
Dís kept quiet, simply tightening her own arms around Thorin. She didn’t feel the need to tell Thorin that, as wonderful as it was to be back in Erebor – and she was truly pleased to be back in their ancestral home – home was not a place for her, it never had been. It would be too much for Thorin to deal with. He would undoubtedly feel pressured by the knowledge and Dís didn’t want that to happen. Dís didn’t need him to change in the slightest.  
  
All Dís needed to feel at home was Thorin’s arms around her. Thorin Oakenshield he may be but, to Dís, her nadad was simply her home.

**Author's Note:**

> If you would prefer to comment on LJ, you can do so [here](http://vix-spes.livejournal.com/245082.html)


End file.
